Meditations on Smoke
by Linstock
Summary: Spock's meditating and he seeks an answer to an important question.


Title: Meditations on Smoke.

Author: Linstock

Code: Spock/Uhura ST2009

Rating: PG

Type: Romance

Disclaimer: I do not own this world and do not make any profit from this work.

Summary: Spock's meditating and he seeks an answer to an important question.

A/N: This story was inspired by this prompt. _Pre-pairing, 5 little sexy things Uhura unknowingly did, said, or wore that inevitably intruded in Spock's thoughts when he'd try to clear his mind during his meditation sessions. _ I didn't stick exactly to the prompt although there are at least five things they are not strictly speaking 'sexy'.

SpockLikesCats was once again my long suffering beta reader. My thanks for her continues support and persistence in the face or appalling spelling and inability to punctuate can't be adequately expressed. Naturally I tweaked after she had corrected my mess and I hereby declare that all the mistakes are my own work.

=/\=

**Meditations on Smoke.**

There were many mediation forms practiced on Vulcan. Spock preferred kohlan fi'vuzh*, the meditation on smoke. He wouldn't be able to meditate in this way for much longer. The Enterprise was nearing completion; soon the tests and space trials would commence. The day of departure drew inexorably closer and there was no place on a starship for ho-rah'vuzh*. For five years he would meditate on stone or flame… and only dream of smoke.

But now Spock sought the freedom and peace of ho-rah'vuzh, for his mind was uneasy and there was a silent question he needed to answer.

=/\=

It had been in the second semester of her first year that Cadet Uhrua had first entered his meditations.

=/\=

Spock performed the preparation rituals with care.

He opened the small ornately carved kov natuhn*. In side the stone box were the flat incense disks, vuzh fnish-tor*. He inhaled deeply the scent of his home, red soil and resinous vegetation, the salty hint of a distant sea carried on the dry plains wind. There was, just discernible, the brittle clove-like scent of the m'tak that carpeted the ground in the desert hollows and of the spicy purple-leafed ch'aal, and underlying it all, the warm, rich, soporific scent of the night-flowering desert slor svai *.

Spock suddenly and briefly experienced the sense memory of being small and held close, pressing his face against his father's neck and smelling this scent combining with that of his father's skin. He had felt utterly safe. Spock experienced the sensation and let it drift away.

His fingers lingered on the kov natuhn's lid; this carving was fashioned not just for Vulcan eyes but for Vulcan touch. To truly experience the carving Spock closed his eyes and used his body sense. It was deeply soothing. The human world was so full of jarring textures, as offensive to the touch as clashing colours were to the eye, and at times it drained him.

He selected a wide flat disk of the slow burning vuzh fnish-tor and placed it delicately in the stone asenoi*. His eyes rested on the patterns on its surface, the rippling strata formed in the crushing turmoil of his planet's birth. This rock had lain deep in the body of Vulcan when life first crawled on the surface; it had rested in the darkness while his people suffered through their bloody crisis of passion and the birth of logic. Hands controlled by a logical mind had delved into the seams of Vulcan's body and brought this rock to the light. Shaping the asenoi had been a moving mediation. The kov-skrimsu* had added his embellishments to blend with the katra of the rock. The stylised script merged with the natural rippling patterns, _Kol-Ut-Shan, _infinite diversity in infinite combination. Spock ran his fingers over the text and felt the words in his core.

Spock picked up the fire strikers which lay on an embroidered felt pad beside the fire bowl. This was an ancient way to make fire, from eons before the enlightenment. He slipped the steel torupik-par onto his left hand. It looked like a "knuckle duster", but the external surface was flat and faintly textured. In his right hand he held the striking stone, a flake of fine crystalline gashayek-kov, razor sharp and harder than steel. Spock stuck the torupik-par a firm glancing blow and the edge of the striking stone sent hot metal shavings showering on the incense disk, where they stuck and started to smoulder. Spock briefly contemplated the symbolism of his actions as the smoke began to rise upward. Then he moved and settled into loshirak* and began the breathing discipline as he watched the smoke rise.

Each quarter of the incense disk produced smoke with a different tint, soft blue, delicate red, faint purple and clear white. Every time sparks struck the incense disk in a unique pattern. Each spark ignited a thin column of tinted smoke which rose straight at first, then coiled and swayed. The skilful hands of the kov-skrimsu had carefully shaped the undulations of the asenoi's lip to channel air currents and shape the tam-tor ho-rah'vuzh*.

Spock breathed deeply and evenly and allowed his mind to join with the tam-tor ho-rah'vuzh; his mind rose languidly, coiling, drifting, gently shaped by unseen currents, the air's memory of movement. The columns of smoke carried him. He was smoke and he drifted upward coiling through memory.

=/\=

**A purple tendril fans out and twists…**

_From her very first day in his class he notices her, always in the front row, engrossed in learning; her expressive face reflects the flow of her thoughts, her lips mouth syllables silently, as she taps out her notes on her Padd. _

**A thread of blue spirals around the with the purple. The purple changes course and follows. A double helix of smoke…**

_His first words to her are a reprimand. Her eyes sparkle as he approaches; when he speaks he sees the sparkle snuff out. He feels … regret … but he has a duty …_

**The blue-purple double helix is engulfed with a wash of red smoke which hangs like mist .…**

_When thinking deeply, she slips the Padd stylus between her lips and rolls it like a young child rolls a lollipop stick. A habit … unacceptable … unhygienic … potentially dangerous … the light has gone from her eyes but he continues … exposure to possible contaminants and pathogens ... placing an item such as a stylus in your mouth increases the chance of contracting a disease and endangers both yourself and your crewmates ... the risks are real … break the habit. He looks directly into her eyes, emphasising this is an order._

**The double helix disperses and a stream of white coils into his mind, undulating rhythmically on an unseen current.… **

_Her face is so expressive, he wonders if she is suited for the role of communications officer; they are often involved in negotiations and her face is so open. He sees a hot anger, he recognises that very well; then another emotion causes her eyes to dim as she takes a slightly uneven breath - wounded pride perhaps? He hears her soft, "Yes sir." The first words she has spoken directly to him._

**He is smoke and he rises through the weeks on streams of purple and blue, but always the uncomfortably oscillating white follows.**

_Spock sees her struggle. Time and again he catches the movement of her hand toward her face and sees her snatch it down. Once, while engrossed in a spot quiz, she looks up and meets his eyes. She snatches the stylus from between her lips and hangs her head over her work, but not before Spock sees her eyes are shining with moisture and her lips are compressed in a tight line. She is angry with herself; he understands all too well. _

_She performs poorly on the quiz. _

**The white smoke blooms and twines around the blue and purple.**

_In a crowded lecture hall he hears an almost inaudible sigh; how does he know it is her?_

**The many streams of smoke seem drawn together; he contracts with it, turning anticlockwise, barely rising, all colours mixing ….**

_She comes into the lecture theatre, head high and sits in her usual seat. Partway through the lecture he hears a soft sharp snapping sound. He watches her surreptitiously. Around Cadet Uhura's wrist is a red band and every time she catches herself raising the stylus to her lips she snaps the red band delivering a small stinging reprimand. _

**The smoke roils, muddled and gray and rises in a loose untidy column.…**

_Spock is ambivalent; he admires her tenacity, he understands the unforgiving drive to demand more of oneself, but he is uneasy. It hurts her, he notes how her eyebrows contract, how she sometimes flinches slightly. As the days pass, her inside wrist becomes reddened and still he hears the punitive snap. _

_He sees how she sometimes rubs her wrist against her side as she walks. _

_The snapping sound haunts him. While eating in the cafeteria, over the general hubbub that one distinctive sound grabs his attention and he sees her, shoulders slightly slumped, rubbing her wrist. _

_In the library, he is deeply engrossed in research and in that silence he hears a faint snap. He rubs the inside of his wrist with his thumb. _

**The smoke settles, resolves and rises in almost parallel columns. He rises with it through time and memory. A white stream of smoke and a blue lean together and then pull apart and he is drawn between them….**

_She sits in the cafeteria across the table from her Orion roommate, who reaches across and takes Cadet Uhura's arm. She is speaking quickly and softly, frowning at the inflamed skin on Cadet Uhura's inner wrist. Spock sees them argue. He sees Cadet Uhura raise her chin, jutting out her jaw and pressing her lips together. She snatches her hand away and her companion stands abruptly and leans forward. Spock just catches a few words … "too far"… "stop" … "melleninal". The Orion word, which does not easily translate, but "sister speaking out to protect her sister" is close. The Orion cadet leaves._

_Only Spock witnesses Cadet Uhura's face soften into sadness and defeat. She raises her injured wrist to her mouth and gently licks the inflamed skin, then holding the arm away slightly, she blows on it. _

Spock closes his eyes and rolls his head as his whole body reacts to the memory, a pulse beat of pure physical sensation. He raises his own wrist to his mouth and licks the tender skin on its inside feeling his pulse beat with his tongue, then softly blows on the damp skin. He feels a deep ache in his side which grows and coils like smoke, an orange-yellow stream lifting him. He opens his eyes and merges with the blue, purple, red and white columns. He soars.

=/\=

As time passed she visited him almost every evening, in the smoke.

=/\=

He reaches for an incense disk. In the past year this too has changed. He has purchased a vuzh fnish-tor with a hint of jasmine in the blend. He's found the old scents do not lift him as it has; his focus has shifted and his sense of home along with it. When he visited Vulcan last break that had been exactly what he'd felt, a visitor, someone whose home was elsewhere.

He strikes the torupik-par with the gashayek-kov, and notes the widely dispersed pattern of sparks as they strike the disk and bite into it. There will be a complex pattern tonight. Good. He will swim between the smoke tendrils like a seahorse through kelp, he will ride the currents of memory and wrap around tendrils of thought and pause where he chooses. Let it be.

Spock settles and commences the breathing discipline. A white column of smoke dances joyfully in the centre of the rising columns. The scent of jasmine calls to him….

_First a day and then a week passes and he doesn't hear the snap that haunts him. Cadet Uhura no longer wears the red band. She has won the battle with herself. He catches her eye one day, raises an eyebrow and nods, acknowledging her success. Her face breaks into a smile … she smiles at him, radiant, as brilliant as white smoke against dark blue. He feels his own face respond, not a smile but a softening … wanting … to acknowledge her … to honour her tenacity … wanting. _

**An air current catches the smoke and it stutters and Spock sees flashes of time and memory… **

_The fading light in her eyes … sadness._

_The slump of her shoulders … defeat. _

_The lift of her chin … determination._

_Her radiant smile … joy. _

**The smoke settles and relaxes, coiling lazily. Spock releases the memories and drifts through months….**

_Looking over the lecture hall, it is as if she is in vivid colour and all others are in black and white, a monochrome background. He speaks to her alone. It is unexpected when many of the monochrome students comment on how good the lecture was. She lifts him. And yet they have not had a single personal conversation._

**Purple smoke rises in thin columns merging in a smooth sheet drawn together by some unseen current. Spock drifts toward them drawn by the texture and flow….**

_She is in the Thai restaurant he frequents off campus. Her Asian companion is a cadet Spock has seen in the gym, a skilled fencer. Cadet Uhura sits with her back toward Spock, unaware of him. For the first time Spock sees her long hair flow over her bare shoulders and down her back, vaksurik*. Her hair moves like liquid silk, magnifying every movement she makes. Every now and then she reaches up and combs her fingers through her hair, smoothing the strands behind her ear. Slowly her head movements loosen them and the strands slide back around her face, and she pushes them back behind her ear again. Spock watches and waits, anticipating the moment she will run her hand impatiently through her hair and smooth it around the soft curve of her ear, repeating the move to tuck the hair securely in place. After the sixth time she reaches back with both hands and, using her forefingers, divides her hair, lifts it, twists and ties it into a knot at the back of her head, tucking the ends in. Spock watches, fascinated, as the knot slowly slides down, uncoiling and unknotting until it suddenly releases and her hair spills down her back once more. _

Sensation spills through Spock; he resists the urge to cling to this memory and slips past it, following the smoke coils which brush against his mind like flowing silky strands of jasmine-scented hair…

=/\=

Tonight he feels the need to touch and handle every ritual item in detail. His fingers long for tactile sensation. He needs to touch. Restlessness hums inside him. The silent question has been asked and demands an answer.

Tonight only a few sparks strike the incense disk. Simplicity then, this is good. He settles into the breath and merges with the smoke.

_He knows her now. She is his assistant and they speak almost every day … about work and increasingly, under that conversation lies another … subtle … dangerous … compelling…. _

Tonight there is only one column of the red tinted smoke. It rises clear and bold, fluttering as regularly as a pulse. Spock follows it , rising, his heart beating in time with the pulsations.…

_Cadet Uhura … "Please call me Nyota when we are alone" … "And I am Spock"._

_Nyota sits at the desk by the window because she likes natural light … Spock sees now, she is like natural light, subtly altering the way he perceives the world, shifting the spectrum of his dreams. _

**White smoke swirls toward the red. Briefly they dance together.**

_Firstly they communicate in a language that exists in the spaces between words. _

_Their second language is touch … he is seated at his desk and her breath caresses his neck as she speaks from behind him … fingers brush when a cup changes hands ... arms touch standing side by side in the lift … his torso touches her shoulder as he bends to look at her monitor … her hair brushes his finger tips as she leans over the desk … feet touch beneath a table and are not pulled away. He parses every touch, noting the increased frequency, duration and … intensity. _

**The white smoke disperses and the red smoke stills, holds, then it suddenly coils inward and drifts away. **

_She reaches up and removes a leaf from his hair. Her hand lingers then slips down, caressing his face. "There," she says and holds up the leaf like a magician producing a missing card. She meets his eyes, hers hold the question … one he has not answered. _

**The purple and blue smoke rise strong and clear, then turn in soft spiralling streams twining around each other, plying close together. He follows …**

_But he is only one column of smoke, curving around nothing. Every look, every touch, every silent conversation full of hidden meanings increases the coiling tension of the twist. As he rides the smoke he knows with absolute clarity there is only one who can join with him and complete him. _

=/\=

Cadet Uhura, Nyota stands before his desk. She has finalised the last of her paperwork. The term has ended and she is no longer his student or assistant. He knows that if he doesn't act now she will flow away from him like smoke on a breeze, leaving nothing but the scent of jasmine and longing.

She is holding out the access card that allowed her entry to his office. He stands and walks around the desk. She looks surprised and perhaps apprehensive.

He extends his hand but doesn't take the offered card; instead, placing his hand beneath hers and, raising it, he bends down to softly kiss the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. His lips linger; through them he feels her pulse pounding. Slowly he licks the skin. She gasps. He closes his eyes, sensation spiralling through him.

Then he opens his eyes, straightens and looks at her. He sees radiance. The access card drops to the floor unheeded. He wraps his right arm around her as she wraps her left around him and they coil together, seeking hands and mouths, merging as perfectly as smoke.

The End

=/\=

I made up most of the "Vulcan" words using the VLD and Memory Alpha. My apologies for any offended sensibilities.

**Kohlan fi'vuzh** = mediation on smoke. kohlan meditating the act of thinking intently and at length, as for spiritual purposes. fi' on used to indicate position above and supported by or in contact with; used to indicate occurrence at a given time. vuzh smoke the vaporous system made up of small particles of carbonaceous matter in the air, resulting mainly from the burning of organic material (noun).

**ho-rah'vuzh** = Ritual smoke. ho-rah ritual the prescribed order of a religious ceremony; the prescribed form of conducting a formal secular ceremony. vuzh smoke.

**Vuzh fnish-tor** = smoke smell. fnish-tor smell to perceive the scent of (something) by means of the olfactory nerves (verb) vuzh smoke the vaporous system made up of small particles of carbonaceous matter in the air, resulting mainly from the burning of organic material (noun).

**ch'aal** = a purple leafy plant a Vulcan delicacy; the spicy tea brewed from its leaves is hard to come by, since the plant is rarely found anywhere but in the unique Vulcan climate with its hot, dry days and dry, cool nights; a purple leafy plant (source: Orion Press Lexicon) .

**Slor svai** = sweet flower. slor sweet having the taste of sugar or a substance containing or resembling sugar or honey. svai flower a plant that is cultivated or appreciated for its blossoms (noun).

**kov natuhn** = Stone box. kov stone concrete earthy or mineral matter; rock; such concreted matter of a particular type geology . natuhn box a container typically constructed with four sides perpendicular to the base and often having a lid or cover

**asenoi** = meditation fire pot, a firepot used to centre one's thoughts during meditation .

**kov-skrimsu** = stonecarver one who carves stone; sculpter.

_**Kol-Ut-Shan**_: **Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations**, the basis of Vulcan philosophy, celebrating the vast array of variables in the universe. In the Vulcan language, it is _Kol-Ut-Shan_. (Memory Alpha).

I made up the names of the fire steel and flint. I figured the fire steel produces fire thus energy and the flint equivalent is an abrasive substance.

**torupik-par** = fire steel. torupik: active being in physical motion; functioning or capable of functioning; marked by energetic activity; busy. Par: approximately.

**gashayek-kov** = flint equivalent. gashayek: abrasive, a substance that abrades (noun), kov stone.

**loshirak** = meditation position - lotus the open position, or cross-legged position used in meditation.

**Tam-tor ho-rah'vuzh** = dancing ritual smoke. tam-tor dance to move in a pattern; usually to musical accompaniment (VLI); movement of ones body to music (verb)

**vaksurik** beautiful having qualities that delight the senses, especially the sense of sight; pleasant [VLI].

A/N: For those interested in flint and steel fire lighting. There are various ways to do it and the one I describe works well and is and accurately described (with "Vulcanised" names). I have "flint and steel" just like Spock's and can light fire just like Spock too! (I'll put the pics on LJ)

This piece was experimental and I would really love to hear what you thought.


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